Chapter 387: Regressionists (2)
Chapter 387: Regressionists (2)
Boom.
Sensing the enemies swarming in, I immediately stomped on the ground.
Power infused with my will scattered in all directions, and the weak collapsed.
Compared to the shockwave from a Limiter Release, this technique is exhausting to use, but it has its perks. It lacks physical mass, so I don't have to worry about causing excessive injury or being blocked by cover. It’s the perfect skill for sweeping away a pathetic mob like this.
Of course, from the second step onward, it transitions into a physical Form, but since the low-ranked ones faint at the first step, it’s rarely an issue.
Furthermore, the "step" structure increases the efficiency of this Form.
The stamina and concentration consumed by this Form rise exponentially with the number of steps. If the consumption of the first step is 10, the second is about 85. The third is around 300. And the final eleventh step... is approximately 16,900.
Even I have to admit, it’s a pretty well-crafted piece of work.
The first and second steps are usually enough for general use, making it efficient to run. As for the final step, even with my Limiter released, I can only use it a few times—but in exchange, it grinds everything in the vicinity to dust.
Since I mixed in martial Forms, Magical Girl techniques, and magic, it’s become more of a hodgepodge than a pure Form. But considering my very essence is a similar kind of hodgepodge, I think the technique suits me well.
However, because it is ultimately a wide-range annihilation Form, there’s no reason to use it in the one-on-one situations I’ve been facing lately. Moreover, even with its physical component, a large part of it consists of mental attacks derived from Otherworldly Power. This makes it less effective against creatures like Gray Eaters, whose intelligence is questionable, and it lacks the ability to distinguish between friend and foe.
In exchange for its massive range and decent efficiency, it’s ended up in a rather awkward position.
Specifically, I can't use it against those tentacle bastards in my Story. I doubt those things even have intelligence to begin with.
Still, I used it quite effectively during the chaotic period when terrorists, soldiers, and Otherworld Invaders were rampant, so I have no major complaints.
With that thought, I kicked aside a convulsing terrorist who had fainted with his eyes rolled back—essentially, a roadblock—and continued walking forward.
Seeing that reminded me; every time I use "Witch's Reign"... no, every time I use this nameless Form, a certain thought crosses my mind.
"What exactly are they seeing?"
It’s a question about why they all faint in such sheer terror. What do they see and feel that makes them all wear expressions as if they’ve witnessed the end of the world?
I was curious enough to experiment once.
Structurally, the Form works like this: first, the Otherworldly Power—which is naturally sensitive to the will of Sentient Beings—reacts to my killing intent or hostility and falls under my control. Then, that controlled power propagates my will to the surrounding Sentient Beings. That is the first step.
From the second step onward, the power under my control gains physical force and pours down alongside the mental attack.
But I still don't know what they actually see or feel to end up like that.
Allies who were accidentally caught in it during the war seem to have had those specific memories wiped clean; they can't describe it properly other than saying they felt something terrifying. Those with enough rank to endure the first step simply describe the mental attack as a "somewhat annoying and irritating pressure."
Hmm.
Well, it’s just simple curiosity.
What does it matter if my enemies experience infinite terror?
The fact that they aren't dead is already an act of overflowing mercy toward them. These are people who murdered the Defense Force the moment they gained power and committed acts of terror against us as we entered the Research Institute.
Based on their crimes alone, I could kill them right here and now without issue.
And yet, the reason I don't kill them is simple.
We carry the name of Heroes.
Deaths caused by accidents during a suppression operation are unavoidable. However, we do not kill intentionally.
Perhaps someone among them had a weak heart and passed away from the shock of my technique. Perhaps a secondary shockwave sent someone flying, leading to a fatal accident like a brain hemorrhage.
But that has nothing to do with me.
It was simply their bad luck.
Thump.
I stomped the ground again to push back the next wave of enemies.
Screams filled with despair rang out, and bodies slumped to the floor.
I trudged through the place where everything had collapsed. I simply walked on, kicking aside the obstacles blocking my path.
Walking alone through an enemy base like this brings back old memories.
A former comrade of mine.
A man overflowing with a sense of justice as a transformation Hero. After performing a few suppression operations with me, he once said:
My methods of suppression were terrifying.
I either harvested everything on the spot without any regard for the environment, or I used cruel tactics—like crushing the limbs of a few as an example, then trudging along while hanging the victims from my hammer to scatter their screams, or throwing them into the middle of an enemy gathering.
He said that after the operation was over, nothing remained but terror.
He told me that if I claimed the name of a Hero, those were actions I should not take.
He wasn't a bad Hero.
Those words weren't meant to condemn me; they were closer to advice.
I remember his name, and I remember his face.
His suppression operations were gentlemanly, and there were almost no casualties. He would push in thoroughly and stubbornly, talk to them, and suppress and restrain them one by one. If he had to catch a specific individual, he would break through while ignoring the small fry.
It was a method of suppression that left no lingering resentment—even the suppressed parties didn't have much to say against him. It was the kind of Hero's suppression method you'd see in old entertainment media.
It was something only he could do because he had confidence in his skills and held firm to his convictions.
That was why he walked the world of light, a man with a name.
Even if his end was dying in the line of duty during a suppression...
He didn't express anger at that; he simply closed his eyes quietly.
He was a man who had the right to shout his own justice.
I know. I know my methods aren't very Hero-like.
Even so, the reason I continue to do this is partly because it's the only way I know how to act.
It’s simply a matter of different roles.
If he walked beneath the light, I am an existence that walks the darkness.
I sow terror and instill fear of the Management Bureau.
If he symbolized a merciful Bureau that could be reasoned with, I symbolize a cruelty that offers no mercy to terrorists.
We were just two chess pieces with different uses.
So, I do what I know how to do for the sake of the world.
Thump.
Stomping the ground again.
Thinking that it was right not to bring my disciples.
Those children don't need to learn things like this.
I’ve taught them some of the darkness of the Hero society, but there is darkness they are better off not knowing.
A-bin might find out someday as a member of the command staff.
But let's leave that for then.
* * *
"Is it here?"
Less than thirty minutes after entering the base, I found the room I was looking for.
A room where documents were scattered everywhere and computer monitors flickered. A place where I could obtain information on what this group was up to.
No matter how much of a rabble a group is, once it reaches a certain size, there’s bound to be someone with a brain. Someone has to keep track of how the organization is running and manage the funds and personnel.
However, that doesn't mean such a person is sane.
"He's definitely a crazy bastard."
What met my eyes was a computer screen still glowing.
The monitor of the computer, which must have been used by the person managing the group, didn't display the typical programs one would expect, like spreadsheets or CCTV feeds.
What was displayed on the monitor was, in short, a video with an adult rating.
A guy who keeps something like this on for personal time even when there's an enemy attack couldn't possibly be sane.
I felt no interest even as I glanced at it, so I turned off the video and plugged a Management Bureau special memory stick into the computer tower.
Then, I slowly sat down in the chair.
I didn't need to do any additional work to steal the information. The moment the memory stick was plugged in, the program inside would execute and harvest the data on its own. My only job was to retrieve it when the stick, which was blinking with a green light, turned red to indicate the task was complete.
So, after plugging in the stick.
As I sat in the chair, staring blankly at the monitor which showed nothing but desktop icons...
Whoosh.
I tilted my head slightly, dodging a projectile flying toward the back of my head.
A projectile aimed at my head from a painfully obvious angle. Naturally, dodging it wasn't difficult.
Pop.
Instead of hitting me, the projectile struck the glowing monitor in front of me, causing it to explode.
"I can't let a dog of the Management Bureau take our information."
A voice came from behind me, providing information I didn't ask for, in what the speaker probably thought was a cool line.
Right, now that I think about it, the furniture arrangement here is garbage too. The chair should be facing the door so you can see who's coming in. Why would you sit with your back to the door so you'd just die if you were ambushed?
With those idiotic thoughts, I spun the chair around.
As my field of vision rotated 180 degrees, the person who had attacked me came into view.
A cowboy was leaning against the doorframe.
Wearing a sombrero, a leather vest, riding boots, and rodeo pants. No matter how you looked at it, he was a cowboy.
The lunatic, who was playing with a revolver-style handgun while leaning against the doorframe, continued to flap his mouth, clearly not grasping the situation.
"Hmm. A face I haven't seen before. Looking at the situation outside, it seems you have a special ability that's particularly strong against low-ranked opponents, but unfortunately for you, your luck has run out."
The villain before me seemed confident in his skills, prattling on even with an enemy right in front of him, but I ignored his words entirely and only checked his power level.
Between mid-tier B and high-tier B.
Weapon reinforcement type? He doesn't seem to have any other special powers.
"You might not know me, but I'm a man with quite a reputation. They call me Quick-Draw John. Since we've met like this, how about it? Let's settle this with a quick draw."
The only certain thing was that this guy was a villain. But does this role-playing lunatic not know who I am? Even the bastards at Nanjido knew me.
"Since you're silent, I'll take that as an agreement. The rules are simple. We toss a coin, and when it hits the ground, we start. Since I'm holding a gun, I'll react one second later."
I stared blankly at the villain as he babbled on.
Even though I showed no reaction, he was lost in his own world and flipped a coin into the air.
Ting.
The clear sound of the rule The Enemy had arbitrarily set rang out.
Just as I was about to stand up from the chair out of boredom...
...Oh.
Something quite surprising happened.
The Enemy’s power amplified. Up to the level of a low-tier A-Rank.
The place where the power was gathering was his waist, where the lunatic had holstered his gun. A massive amount of power was congregating and condensing there.
Quick-Draw what-was-it? He does have the power to back up that self-proclaimed title.
He probably possesses an ability that amplifies his attack during a quick draw. If nothing else, that single strike would be something he could be proud of.
However, there was one problem.
Wham!
"...Cowardly..."
"Where's the 'cowardly' in a fight, you moron?"
Our words crossed along with the sound of impact.
The sound of my fist, which had lunged forward instantly, striking The Enemy’s abdomen.
As his internal organs twisted and his internal energy was disrupted, he immediately rolled his eyes back and fainted.
Ting.
Following that, the sound of the coin hitting the ground was heard.
Well, that's how it goes.
Maybe if he had launched a preemptive strike with that power, it would be different, but where in the world is there a fool who would follow a non-binding rule set by an enemy?
If the opponent were someone decent, I might play along a little, but The Enemy is a villain. I have no reason to be polite.
After crushing the cowboy's hands with my feet to ensure he was incapacitated, I tied his limbs and tossed him into a corner of the room.
Having restrained the villain, I returned to the monitor that had been smashed by the bullet. The red light emitting from the memory stick in the computer tower greeted me.
An alarm indicating that the information gathering was complete.
I pulled out the memory stick and tucked it into my pocket.
"The monitor might be smashed, but the computer tower doesn't explode, you idiot."
Leaving a final word for the opponent who couldn't hear me anyway, I walked out of the room.